I'm having fun with my preschoolers. Their at the adorable age of innocence, where everything that comes from your mouth is as good as gold. They have yet to test out rebellion, and believe that the most troublesome aspect of the world is that their friends don't share with them. Teaching the "five year old class" has been an entirely different experience than when I substituted for the "7 year old class" last year. It hasn't been better or worse, just substantially different considering the children's maturity levels. One great aspect about teaching in Korea, as opposed to a Western country, is the fact that Korea has not taken up law suits so avidly as other countries. I don't have a fear of being called a pedophile for hugging my children, or showing them affection. In fact, that is part of my job description, giving affection to the children, hugging them, playing with them, and kissing their boo boos. Hopefully, if I can remember, I will continue writing this as a series relaying stories about my children.
We had this student Ashton for a while. He was four (Korean age) with floppy black hair, pants that were always falling off him and with a face as sweet as candy. But Ashton, I'm afraid, did not make it on our class for longer than a month. The poor thing could not understand us. I'm not sure he would have understood us if we'd been speaking Korean. He didn't comprehend school. He didn't grasp sitting still in circle time or repeating words and phrases. I thought at the very least he'd understand coloring, but even that seemed to boggle his poor little mind. We'd place a coloring sheet before him, place a coloring pencil in his hand, assist him in coloring for the first few seconds, and leave him to it, but he'd only stare at us, bewildered. He literally would gaze at us with a blankness only found on white paper holding his color pencil in his hand for ten minutes. I don't know if he wouldn't color, or if he really didn't get the concept, but either way, in order for any of Ashton's work to be completed, Cindy and I would have to complete it ourselves, placing Ashton's hand in ours, as we colored, or drew lines to the correct pictures for Ashton, as he stared at us as if we were strange creatures from his dreams. After a month of this, his mother and father determined that Ashton wasn't ready for school yet. We whole-heatedly agreed.
I have an adorable class. Really, I'm quite lucky to have such angelic children. And I have to say, I particularly like the girls, although the boys quite frequently melt my heart as well. One of my little girls names is Elise. She's an adorable creature that might have been a kangaroo in a previous life time. She's constantly hopping around, her arms bent like short stubby kangaroo's, singing her own little tunes. She's also quite particular about dirt and mess. I imagine her mother is quite tidy. She refuses to go into the bathroom if there is anything out of the ordinary such as water on the floor, or dirt. She will come to fetch me, if the bathroom is unacceptable to her standards, and will hold her pee, until it has been cleaned up.
No comments:
Post a Comment